


The Age of Pirate Ships

by StilesBastille24



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Steve gets de-aged, minor Bucky angst, there's a lot of cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:18:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6808612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StilesBastille24/pseuds/StilesBastille24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They stop in front of the three to four year olds playroom. A big bullet proof window looks in on the chaos of pre-schoolers. Bucky slants a glare at his friends. What does Bucky care about a bunch of toddlers? He needs to find Steve. He needs to tell Steve off for scaring him like this. He needs to -  </p><p>	“Oh no,” Bucky breathes, gaze suddenly snagging on a horribly familiar head of straw blonde hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Real Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I felt completely ridiculous trying to tag this fic. But, I love de-aged stories, they're ridiculous and wonderful and I <3 them forever. And a while back I felt a desperate need to write about de-aged Steve or Bucky. I couldn't swing it for Bucky since I was coming up blank about what to do with his arm. So Steve got shrunk down instead and then there was minor angst because Bucky is always wonderfully moody in my heart. 
> 
> Honestly, this is just a story about Steve being a small and cute baby child and Bucky cuddling him because he is small and cute. I was planning on never letting this story see the light of day but then I thought, hey, maybe there are some other de-aged loving people out there who would be down for kid!Steve. 
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift's song The Best Day because I just kept hearing that line in my head while I was writing this.

“What happened to Steve?” Bucky asks, shifting his gaze from Natasha to Sam. He’s not worried, exactly, Steve gets scraped up on pretty much every mission they go on, but he’s always fine. Because he’s Captain America. 

Bucky had gotten separated from the team pretty early on. The building was crumbling, there was an unexpected sniper; long story short, Bucky fell through the floor, knocked himself unconscious for a good fifteen minutes and when he came to, he was caved in with the equally concussed sniper. When Bucky had finally emerged, bloodied but victorious, it had taken him another ten minutes to find Nat and Sam. Find them without Steve. 

One oppressively silent car ride and a half hour later, Bucky is riding the elevator up Stark Tower. They don’t stop at the medical floor like Bucky is expecting, they glide past it and come to a halt on floor sixteen. 

“Why the fuck are we going to the child care floor?” Bucky asks, turning in disbelief to Natasha and Sam.

“You’ll see,” Sam says leading the way out the elevator and past the reception desk.

They stop in front of the three to four year olds playroom. A big bullet proof window looks in on the chaos of pre-schoolers. Bucky slants a glare at his friends. What the hell does Bucky care about a bunch of toddlers? He needs to find Steve. He needs to tell Steve off for scaring the shit out of him like this. He needs to - 

“Oh shit,” Bucky breathes, gaze suddenly snagging on a horribly familiar head of straw blonde hair. “Oh fucking shit.” Bucky jolts into action, shoving his thumb against the fingerprint scanner and bursting into the playroom when the door unlocks. 

The happy children are screaming and screeching as they play with foam blocks, draw pictures across spreads of white paper, clamber over a playhouse, and generally create mini chaos. But Steve, tiny Steve, is standing shyly at the back of the room, his big blue eyes watching the rest of the kids warily.

Bucky’s heart is doing weird things as he stalks across the room. Like it can’t decide if it wants to crawl up his throat to be vomited onto the floor, or if it wants to sink down to his toes and pass out the soles of his feet. Reaching Steve, Bucky drops down on both knees and drags the little wisp of Steve Rogers into his arms.

Which, understandably, is when all hell breaks loose. Because Bucky is still dressed in his blood stained fighting gear and little Steve, having no idea who Bucky is, starts kicking Bucky as hard as his frail body is capable of, directly in the shins. Then, someone’s trying to rip him away from Steve and the next thing Bucky knows he has two guns aimed at him. Steve chooses this moment to sink a set of vicious teeth into the skin between Bucky’s thumb and index finger. 

“Fuck!” Bucky curses, letting go of Steve and pushing him back a few feet so the kid can’t keep trying to bit and kick the living shit out of him. With his hands held high, Bucky slowly stands up, turning to the two intimidating women leveling guns at his head. 

“I know him,” he defends as he edges backwards to the door. 

“I’ve already called security,” the woman with her hair in a messy bun informs him.

Bucky shrugs, eyes darting to Steve who is now glaring fiercely at him from behind the woman with curly black hair. “I know them too.”

When he gets to the door, he sprints out, turning sharply left and following the sign heralding the bathrooms. Inside, Bucky douses his face in cold water. Maybe he’s just losing it. Maybe he’s really still unconscious at the bottom of the crumbled building. Maybe he’s dead and this is the first circle of hell.

“Bucky?” Natasha’s voice pulls him back to reality. 

“Am I imagining this?” he asks, dragging his eyes to hers.

She reaches out, rubbing the blood from his forehead with her thumb, then ducking her hand beneath the still running faucet. “You’re not going to like the answer to that question.”

“Then what the hell is going on?” Bucky demands, dodging another brush of her fingers against his still sluggishly bleeding wounds. 

“Bruce is working on it. Steve got hit with some kind of blow dart thing. He fell, Sam and I took out the threat as quickly as we could. When we got back to Steve, little Steve was standing in a heap of Captain America’s uniform.”

Bucky’s jaw sags. “What the fuck?”

Natasha shrugs. “Aliens, gods, super serums, I think a blow dart with the ability to regress your age isn’t all that unbelievable.”

“Liar,” Bucky challenges.

For a moment, she watches him critically, then her mouth curls into a jagged smile. “Liar,” she agrees.

“But Bruce can fix it?”

“He’s working on it. In the meantime, we need somewhere to keep Steve safe.” She looks at Bucky expectantly.

Which is just fucking nuts. “Did you see that back there? Little Stevie has no fucking clue who I am. He tried to take me out.” Bucky holds out his hand for her inspection, the set of perfect, tiny teeth marks red against his suntanned skin. 

Natasha’s smile evens into something more natural. “So he was always the rough and tumble type?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Bucky grinds a fist against his temple, reality seeming to warp in and out of shape around him. “I was five when we met. Not like those memories were crystal clear even before Hydra played Break the Ice with them. I know that’s Steve, but hell if I know how old he is or if we’ve met yet.”

“So he won’t know you?” Natasha questions. 

“Not if he’s three or four.” Bucky frowns, thinking it over, trying to dredge up what he remembers of him and Steve as kids. “Or – at least,” he runs a frustrated hand through his sweat tangled hair,“I’m a year older. So if I was five then Steve might have been four?”

Natasha nods briskly. “Okay. Well, we’re going to work with whatever he does or doesn’t know. You can bow out if you want – “

“I’m not fucking bowing out,” Bucky snaps. “Just – just let me change clothes and maybe give the teachers a heads up that I’m not trying to kidnap Captain America?” 

“No one told you to go storming in there,” Natasha points out with a smirk.

Bucky flips her off. Fucking hell. They could have at least told Bucky what he was walking into instead of keeping it all cloak and dagger.

XxXxX

When Bucky returns, Maria Hill is at his side. She waves over the woman with curly hair who is no longer wielding her firearm in Bucky’s direction. “This is Steven’s guardian,” Maria says by way of introduction.

Outside of the Avengers initiative, they are aiming to prevent more people than necessary knowing that Steve is currently the size of a Teacup Yorkie than is necessary. The woman eyes Bucky critically from head to toe. “Steve told me he bit you.”

“He did.” Bucky offers his hand as evidence.

She smirks at the faded teeth marks. “Nearly worked himself into a crying fit. He felt very guilty.”

“It was my fault, I scared him,” Bucky defends.

Maria rolls her eyes at him. “Keisha, we need to see if Steve will go home with Bucky or if we need to call up another guardian.” 

“All right,” Keisha says doubtfully. Bucky glares at her. 

She crosses the carpet to where Steve is sitting at the far back of the reading group. He’s turned so he’s half facing them, twisting his small hands nervously as Keisha bends down to speak with him. When Steve finally makes eye contact with Bucky, his pale face flares bright red. He shakes his head vehemently at Keisha. 

Which, no, Bucky doesn’t have time for this bullshit. “Come on, Steve,” Bucky calls, walking slowly over. “I’m not mad at you, punk.” 

Pushing hesitantly to his feet, Steve checks with Keisha before he meets Bucky halfway. “Sorry I bited you,” he mumbles to his improbably small shoes. 

“Not a problem,” Bucky assures, kneeling down so he’s no longer towering over Steve. “Sorry I scared you, pal.”

Steve looks up sharply at this pronouncement, his blue eyes round and somber. “You looked real scary.” Then, tilting his head to the side, he takes in Bucky’s change of clothes. “You don’t now. Where did the blood go? Did your mom wash it off? Did you hafta go to the hospital? Can I see your hand?”

For the first time since the building collapsed, Bucky smiles, because this is a shit show, but maybe it’s not the worst one he’s faced. “Why, you wanna check out your handy work?” He offers his right hand to Steve who takes it in his much smaller ones, turning it this way and that to examine the injury. 

After careful inspection, Steve proudly informs Bucky, “My teeth are real sharp.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky snorts, “yeah, they are.”

“You sure you’re not mad?” Steve squints suspiciously at him.

“Not mad, I promise.” Bucky can’t help running his partially gloved metal hand over the top of Steve’s fluffy blonde hair. “Actually, I was thinking you and me could break out of this place.”

Steve stares at Bucky’s right hand, spreading Bucky’s fingers wide, comparing the sizes of their hands. “Ms. Keisha said my mom can’t come get me.”

“No,” Bucky agrees gently, “she can’t.”

“Did she ask you to get me?” Steve pinches Bucky’s pinkie until it’s white, then watches it refill with blood. 

Obviously telling Steve the reality of the situation is out of the question. Instead, Bucky says, “Yeah, she sure did, pal. That okay with you?” 

Steve wiggles his fingers in an attempt to lace them with Bucky’s. “What’s your name?”

“Bucky.”

Steve’s fascination with Bucky’s hand cuts off instantly as he yanks his own hand free. “Nu-uh,” he disagrees angrily.

Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise. “Hate to break it to you, kid, but that’s my name. Bucky Barnes.”

“Nu-uh!” Steve exclaims more adamantly. “That’s my best friend’s name. And you can’t have the same name. Only he’s Bucky. You’re not and he’s five years old. Not one hundred years old like you.” Steve crosses his arms sternly over his little chest. 

Bucky glances back at Maria for guidance but her empathetic shrug is sorely lacking in use value. “Okay then . . .” Bucky starts slowly, “maybe I’m your best friend Bucky.”

Steve rolls his eyes with impressive sincerity for a four year old. “That’s dumb. You aren’t five.” He tilts his chin up defiantly. 

“No, and I’m not one hundred either. Well, sort of. But I am Bucky.” He crosses his own arms over his chest, trying to out stubborn Steve even though he knows it’s a fruitless endeavor. 

“Prove it,” Steve demands. 

“I can’t, it’s magic,” Bucky deadpans.

Steve takes a moment to think this over, then his face splits in a brilliant smile. He jerks into motion, throwing both thin arms around Bucky’s neck. “Neat!” 

Bucky hugs his miniaturized best friend back, and Bucky is so fucking glad Steve’s young enough to believe in magic. Bucky scoops Steve into his arms and stands. "So you coming home with me or what, punk?”. 

“Course, Bucky,” Steve agrees happily. “Can I eat chocolate? I’m real hungry. They only had milk for snack, it was gross.” He reaches up, framing Bucky’s face with his tiny hands, eyes wide and sad. 

Bucky laughs, dotting a kiss to Steve’s hairline. Steve vehemently tries to rub it off. “You aren’t having chocolate for dinner, you joker.”

“Bucky, Steve whines, wriggling around to rest his head on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Stevie,” Bucky echoes.

Steve sighs grievously, one arm latched around Bucky’s neck, gripping onto the collar of his jacket, the other dangling at his side, fingers brushing idly against Bucky’s arm. “I didn’t even get sick from the milk, Buck,” he brightens.

“Isn’t that something,” Bucky offers, running his hand up Steve’s back as he carries him toward Maria. She informed Bucky on the ride over that the initial tests they’d run on Steve showed none of his former illnesses. Steve might be four years old, but he isn’t Steve Rogers at four, he’s Captain America at four. 

 

SHIELD has courteously set up a child’s car seat in the back of Maria’s black SUV. Bucky gently wrangles a sleepy Steve into the seat, clicking in each of the numerous straps and tugging on them for security. 

Pulling out of their parking space, Maria notes, “He’s cute.” 

Bucky tilts a look in her direction. “You saying Steve isn’t always cute?”

She laughs. “No, he’s usually hot.”

Bucky feigns a gasp. “Steve Rogers is not for your sexual objectification.” 

“But he is for yours, right?” She slants her eyebrow at him.

Bucky smirks. “Wouldn’t be your business either way.”

He is, he completely is. Three weeks ago, Bucky had crawled into Steve’s bed in the middle of the night and jammed himself under Steve’s curled body so his head was resting against Steve’s chest. "I love you,” he declared harshly.

Sleepy and confused, Steve petted Bucky’s face tiredly. “Yeah, me too, pal. All the love.”

“I want to love you and fuck you,” Bucky corrected, irritated that his original meaning had been misunderstood.

“Oh shit,” Steve said, sitting up so fast he knocked Bucky back on the mattress. Whirling around, Steve clambered on top of Bucky, easily pinning Bucky’s hips to the bed beneath his own. “Are we going straight through the back door or can we start with casual make outs?”

“Your choice,” Bucky offered magnanimously. 

“Make outs,” Steve said decisively, then proceed to fall all over Bucky, his mouth missing Bucky’s by a mile. Bucky kindly corrected his best friend’s trajectory and they spent the rest of the night and into the early morning making out and whispering sappy love confessions to one another. It had been a top notch night. 

Although, as he glances in the rearview mirror at Steve’s sleeping form, Bucky’s glad they have yet to move onto anything heavier than petting. When they pull up to the complex, Maria explains that he and Steve are on lock down, neither allowed to leave the premises. The other Avengers are split between researching an antidote and guarding the apartment. 

Bucky offers Maria a quiet goodbye and hoists Steve’s limp body against his chest. He carries Steve into the apartment, laying him across Steve’s queen sized bed, and tucking the covers beneath his chin. Steve looks ludicrously tiny in the ocean of the bed and it makes Bucky’s gut twist uncomfortably. 

After making sure Steve is settled for the night, Bucky sweeps the rest of the apartment for anything that might get little Steve in trouble. Like randomly placed knives, gear left around hastily, the cleaning chemicals, and other mundane shit. When the place is relatively safe, Bucky walks into his own room, kicking off his shoes, and picking up the picture of Steve from his dresser. 

The frame is decked out with little heart jewels, plastic diamonds, and glitter courtesy of Darcy Lewis. In the picture, Steve is squinting into the sunlight, mouth spread wide in an impish grin. “I’m scared,” Bucky confides to the silent photograph. 

“Cuz if you’re stuck like this, who the hell do I become? I don’t want to spend my days growing old or continuing on as some demented Nosferatu if I’m not doing it with you. I’ve got nothing without you, punk, so if they can’t fix you, they’re going to have to find a way to shrink me down to your size. I ain’t living another lifetime without you, pal, I promise you that.”

XxXxX

Tiny fingers poke repeatedly at Bucky’s cheek until he grudgingly opens one eye. “What?”

“I’m hungry.” Huge blue eyes peer pleadingly at him.

“I’m sleeping,” Bucky points out.

Steve nods solemnly before scrambling onto the bed, kneeing Bucky in several key locations that have him checking a groan. Steve weasels his way under Bucky’s outstretched arm, wiggling until his forehead is mashed under Bucky’s chin.

“Missed you,” Steve lisps. 

Guilt slips up Bucky’s spine. “Missed you too, Stevie,” he assures, rubbing a hand over Steve’s soft hair. 

Steve works his arms up and around Bucky’s neck, hugging tightly. “I like this room better,” he whispers. “It smells like you.”

Bucky huffs a laugh. “Oh yeah?”

Steve nods earnestly against him. “Can I stay here with you?”

“You just wanna have a sleepover,” Bucky teases even as he eyes the sunlight fighting against his curtains. His uses his metal hand to stroke Steve’s back. Bucky’s hand nearly spans the whole thing, Steve is so small. And Bucky can feel the smooth expansion of Steve’s ribs beneath his palm as Steve breathes easily in a way he never had when they were growing up.

At the very least, Steve is okay. Bucky will take Steve in any way shape or form as long as it isn’t six feet in the ground. These thoughts in mind, he presses a hard kiss to the crown of Steve’s head, laughing when Steve grouses about it. 

“Gross, Buck!”

“Oh, you don’t want my kisses, Stevie? Who should I give them to?” Bucky teases, thumb rubbing at the soft skin behind Steve’s tiny pink ear. “Maria Hill?”

Steve mulls this over, his little fingers tangling up in Bucky’s hair and yanking a few strands free as he does whatever it is, exactly, that he’s doing. “I don’t want you to kiss her neither.” From his tone alone, Bucky can tell Steve is pouting. 

“Aw, but she’s real nice and pretty.” Bucky grins. 

“No,” Steve negates, small feet hammering into Bucky’s lower stomach. 

“No, she’s not nice and pretty or no, I can’t kiss her?” Bucky laughs, shifting so he’s out of the range of Steve’s feet. 

He can see Steve now, whose cheeks are flushed from heat, his forehead scrunched up in a heavy duty pout. “I don’t want you to kiss nobody ‘cept me when I say so.” He glowers petulantly up at Bucky. 

“Well, that only seems fair,” Bucky offers, smiling softly. 

Steve scrutinizes him for a moment before breaking into a smile. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Bucky affirms, puckering up. Steve deigns to tilt his head to side so Bucky can smack a playfully loud kiss to his cheek. Then he gathers Steve into his arms and sits up, Steve perched neatly on his hip. “You said something about being hungry?”

“Pancakes!” Steve shouts, little arms flailing into the air before he locks them around Bucky’s neck. “Please?”

“Whatever you want, kid,” Bucky laughs. 

He carries Steve out of the room, trying not to focus on how light Steve is, even without Bucky’s superior strength in the mix. Steve rests his head against Bucky’s shoulder, reaching out with his right hand to run the tips of his fingers over the metal of Bucky’s left arm.

“You got hurt,” Steve says, his voice quiet and filled with worry.

Bucky lifts his metal hand and wiggles his fingers. “I’m okay.”

“Nu-uh,” Steve disagrees, his palm pressing into Bucky’s metal one, showing off just how disparate they are in size. “Where’d your arm go?”

“Well,” Bucky sets Steve down on the counter top so he can scrounge up the ingredients for pancakes. “I fell really far and my arm got hurt so bad I had to get a new one.”

Steve’s eyes are huge, so blue they look like the ocean. “Bucky?” his voice wobbles. 

“I’m fine, pal,” Bucky assures, dropping down onto the balls of his feet to meet Steve’s worried gaze. “Would I lie to you?”

“No.” Steve presses his hand against the red star on Bucky’s shoulder. “You like it?”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah, it’s not too bad.”

Steve nods as he thinks this over. “I like it too, Bucky. I like your new arm. It’s real pretty.” 

Bucky’s smile grows. “Aw shucks, Stevie, thanks.”

Steve giggles, running his hand down the smooth metal before abruptly smashing his head against the top of Bucky’s. It takes Bucky a moment to realize Steve isn’t actually head butting him, but rather pressing an overenthusiastic kiss to Bucky’s sleep mused hair. 

Bucky’s heart beats off kilter for a moment as he pulls the Steve into a tight hug. “Love you, Steve.” 

“Love you too, Buck.” Steve pulls back with a goofy grin.

XxXxX

At ten thirty, Steve is sacked out on the couch, faced mashed into a cushion and all of him but his small toes poking out of the blanket Bucky covered him with. There’s a knock at the door and Bucky glances at Steve before reaching for the gun he has tucked under the couch.

“Yeah?” he calls out.

“Natasha.”

Bucky cracks the door open to peer out with his gun aimed at head level. 

Natasha grins smugly at him. “Aw, you worried about baby Steve?”

He kicks the door open wide enough for Natasha to pass under his arm. “You bring us anything useful or just your shining personality?” 

She shakes the bags in her hands. “Merry Christmas, Barnes.” 

“Clothes?” he asks hopefully, slipping the gun into waistband of his pants and jerking his head towards the couch. 

Natasha peeks over the edge to check on Steve before going to the kitchen table and dumping her bags out. “Clothes, kid friendly food, coloring books, action figures, Barbies, the whole shebang.” 

Bucky grunts his thanks before asking, “You gonna hang around long enough for me to take a shower?” 

Natasha grins, reaching up and pinching his cheek. “You’re in luck, I cleared my whole afternoon for tiny Steve babysitting.” She grabs a book, the one she had been reading when she stopped by last week, from the bookshelf and drops into the arm chair, plucking out her bookmark before tilting her head back to ask, “You still here? I have been around kids before, so no worries.”

Bucky shrugs. He isn’t worried about Steve being out of his sight. He’s hoping Natasha is going to tell him when they are going to be able to set Steve straight. Except he can’t bring himself to ask, too terrified Natasha won’t have an answer or the answer will be 'never.' 

So instead, Bucky heads to his room, grabbing a change of clothes before going into the bathroom and locking the door. He dumps his clean clothes on the towel cabinet and shucks off the ones he's wearing. He kicks the discarded clothes into a heap near the door so he will remember to grab them on his way out and avoid Steve nagging at him for leaving them lying around.

Except that isn’t going to happen. Steve at four has no concept of household cleanliness. He’s more likely to jump into the pile of clothes than demand they be put in the hamper. Frustration wells up and Bucky grits his teeth, kicking with undue force at the clothes. They sail through the air, smacking into the door with an audible thud. 

From the living room, Natasha calls, “You alright in there, Bucky?”

“Yes,” he growls. 

Bucky wrenches on the hot water, stepping beneath the lava like spray. It’s hot enough to turn his skin red. It’s immensely preferable to cold water. Bucky dips his head so the water pounds down on his bent neck, cascading over the tense muscles of his back. 

This is bullshit. What the hell was in that fucking blow dart that turned Steve, the world’s first and best super solider, into a child? How was that fucking possible? 

Jesus, the whole thing could be a fucking set up! Tranq Steve, drag his body off and replace him with the mini double. Brainwash this poor dumb kid who looks like Steve into thinking he is Steve and then pawn him off on an idiot like Bucky. In the meantime, Steve is shackled in some medieval torture chamber thinking any moment now Bucky is coming to save him.

Bucky’s out of the shower before he even knows what he’s doing, dragging his black sweatpants over wet legs. 

Skidding out of the bathroom, Bucky shouts, “Steve!” 

“Bucky?” Steve asks uncertainly, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, his little head poking up above the arm of the couch, blonde hair sticking up in a frenzy.

“Bucky?” Natasha echoes, already positioning herself between Bucky and Steve.

And now that he’s out here, sopping wet with no shirt on, Bucky realizes he has no plan. What’s he going to do to prove this kid isn’t Steve? 

“Steve,” he repeats, voice an angry growl.

Steve scrambles over the couch, eyes so round they look like saucers. “What’s wrong, Bucky?” He tries to push past Natasha’s grabbing hands.

Steve at four. Bucky at five. Fuck. What did Bucky remember? What could he use that nobody else knew?

Steve kicks Natasha hard in the leg, his little voice high and shrill as he shouts, "Stop!" She takes a step back at the unexpected force and Steve darts forward, latching both arms around Bucky’s legs to anchor himself there.

Bucky fights the urge to wrestle the kid free of him. This isn’t Steve. It can’t be. Steve’s in a cell somewhere, waiting for Bucky. Bucky needs to get to him.

“Bucky!” Steve pulls urgently at Bucky’s sweatpants, damp through from the shower. “It’s okay, Buck, promise. I’ll hug it better, just like for Becky.”

Bucky freezes at the mention of his sister’s childhood nickname. He drops down to Steve, holding firmly onto his thin shoulders. “What do you mean?” His voice is still too angry by half.

“She got bited by the bee and you hugged it better. Remember?” Steve looks imploringly at Bucky, waiting for the moment when the memory clicks.

It does. In that hazy way childish memories exist, Bucky sees the stupid beehive, broken open straight down the middle from the baseball Bucky had managed to get his hands on and had foolishly convinced Steve they needed to practice with. Bucky had hit the hive right off the bat. 

And Becca, she’d begged to come along, three years old and chubby legs. Bucky had told her to beat it, that babies had to stay at home with mom. But she’d followed them anyway. Bucky didn’t realize she was there until the bees were swarming and he and Steve were making a run for it. 

“I can hug it all better,” Steve earnestly assures, eliminating the minute space between them and wrapping his small arms around Bucky’s neck before climbing up Bucky’s bent knees to sit down in his lap, clinging on like a koala bear “See, all better, right?” he whispers too loudly.

Swamped by the memory and the sudden familiar smell of Steve, Bucky gives in, arms folding across Steve’s back to hold him against his chest. Shamefaced, he looks up. Natasha’s gun is out, aimed for Bucky. “They ran a DNA test, Barnes. Maria told you about it.”

Natasha knew exactly what Bucky had been thinking without him putting it into words. He nods mutely. Now that she’s said it, he vaguely remembers Maria talking about a DNA test. It hadn’t meant anything to him at the time, his focus centered on Steve being alive, being whole. 

Steve, oblivious to the maelstrom around him, sighs happily against Bucky’s neck. “You’re okay, Buck. I’m really good at hugs, promise. My ma says so.”

“I know, pal, I know you are,” Bucky promises, his voice like gravel, heart breaking in a thousand different directions. 

How is he supposed to do this? He needs Steve like he needs to breathe. How is he going to keep it together long enough to get all of Steve back? 

“Don’t be sad,” Steve instructs, fingers tugging at Bucky’s damp hair. “I don’t like baths neither, but Ma says you gosta take one or you’ll stink just like a pig pen.”

A laugh wrenches itself out of Bucky’s chest. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Mhm,” Steve murmurs. 

Natasha holsters her gun, sighing heavily as she watches Bucky cling onto Steve. “Go take your shower, Bucky, we’ll be here when you get back.”

Steve tilts his head to the side, allowing Bucky another kiss, one which Bucky presses against the soft skin of Steve’s cheek. Steve beams, hopping off Bucky’s lap and taking off towards the kitchen table spread with Natasha’s gifts.

XxXxX

After his shower, Bucky uses Natasha’s presence to decompress in his room. Harassing Sam and Tony Stark with text messages he hopes will prompt an explanation of when he can expect Steve to be full sized again. Natasha is kind enough to feed Steve a lunch of PB&J sandwiches while he does so.

Bucky finally reemerges around two pm; Steve blinks balefully at him from the couch where Natasha is attempting to read him a Russian fairy tale. Bucky tilts his head to the side, silently asking Steve what’s up. The little boy lifts his arms plaintively and Bucky’s mouth tugs up in a lopsided smile. He nods his head towards Natasha. Steve shakes his head defiantly, reaching for Bucky again. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, turning around to get started on making his own lunch. Just as he’s opening the fridge, Steve lets out a wail like he’s been lit aflame. Bucky sprints back to the living room where Steve is bawling his eyes out, kicking violently at Natasha whose attempting to gather him in her arms and calm him down.

“Stop! Stop!” Steve shouts, words wobbly with crying, little fists flying out to force Natasha to back up. 

“Steve?” Bucky asks desperately, vaulting over the back of the couch. 

Steve instantly flings himself on Bucky, tears and snot smearing into the shoulder of Bucky’s t-shirt. “Bucky!” Steve clutches anxiously at him. “I don’t like Natasha! Make her go home!”

Bucky turns perplexed eyes on Natasha who shrugs helplessly. Until ten seconds ago, they had been getting along swell. “Hey, Stevie, you’re okay, I’ve got you,” Bucky soothes, still frowning as he rubs soft circles against Steve’s back.

Steve keeps crying, snuffling out harsh breaths before coughing his way through more tears. “M-make her go home!” he pleads.

“Steve,” Bucky tries to reason. “You like Natasha, she’s your friend.”

“No!” Steve says adamantly. “ _You’re_ my friend. I want her to leave. Please, Bucky. Please. I want _you_ to play with me.”

A feeble grin flickers across Natasha’s lips. “I think someone’s jealous of the time you’ve been holed away.”

Bucky cradles Steve safely against his chest. Steve wriggles desperately, trying to ensure his grip isn’t dislodged in the slightest. “I think someone needs a nap,” Bucky says out of the side of his mouth. 

Not that Steve is likely to hear him, he’s still working himself up, cheeks hot and damp against Bucky’s neck. “Please, Bucky,” he begs again. 

“Hey, hey,” Bucky comforts, pressing a kiss to the side of Steve’s head. “I’m right here, pal, not going anywhere, promise. You got me, I swear.”

“I – I want you to read me a story.” Steve pushes the words out through heavy breaths and bursts of tears. 

“Sure thing,” Bucky agrees, reaching out with his metal hand to snag a book from the coffee table. “Natasha, would you get Steve a glass of water, please?”

She lifts her brows at him but nods; Steve whimpers against his shoulder. Bucky strokes his hand down Steve’s back, nudging him gently in the side until Steve deems to turn his head enough to see the cover of the book. 

“Click Clack Moo,” Bucky reads, grimacing at the pastel colored book. 

“I like cows,” Steve says with heavy trepidation followed by a loud sniff. 

Natasha reappears with a blue plastic child’s cup. Steve accepts it with downcast eyes and takes a sip. “Thanks.” He lisps the ‘s.’

“I’m going to head out,” Natasha announces casually.

Bucky makes a face at her for abandoning him in the midst of Steve’s first temper tantrum. Steve turns guilty eyes to Bucky, bottom lip wobbling, his cheeks fire engine red and streaked with tears. Bucky sighs, rubbing off the tears with his thumb. “You got something to say to Natasha before she leaves?”

Steve nods weakly. 

“Better say it then,” Bucky encourages, fingers sliding to the side to tug gently at Steve’s small ear.

“Sorry,” Steve whispers, looking earnestly at Natasha. 

She’s good enough not to smile, taking the apology as sincerely as it’s given. “It’s okay, Steve. I get cranky sometimes too.”

Crisis resolved, Steve ducks back down, curling into Bucky’s lap, cup of water clutched in both of his hands, eyes locked on _Click Clack Moo_. Bucky drops his head back against the couch, staring upside down at Natasha. “See you for dinner?”

“Think Sam called dibs on dinner.”

“Thanks for the stuff then,” Bucky corrects. 

Natasha flips him a faux salute and walks out the door, shutting and locking it behind her. Bucky frowns but chooses not to question how, exactly, Natasha obtained a key to their apartment. 

“Bucky?” Steve prompts, one small hand coming to rest over Bucky’s metal one. “Will you read to me now?”

“You promise to take a nap after?”

Steve nods somberly. “Promise, Buck.”

XxXxX

Steve snuffles out a sigh, cheek rubbing against Bucky’s chest. Stretched out along the couch, Bucky has his head propped up on the arm and his feet hanging off the side. Steve is draped over his chest, little feet tucked between Bucky’s legs, his whole body covered excessively by their checkered blanket.

Bucky drags his fingertips up and down the sharp ridges of Steve’s spine. Steve, fast asleep on his chest in his promised nap, drools slightly into the fabric of Bucky’s blue t-shirt. It’s kind of gross and kind of cute. 

“You waking up, buddy?” Bucky asks quietly, his metal fingers curling a lock of Steve’s hair behind the tiny pink shell of his ear. 

Steve doesn’t move, just draws in another soft breath. From this angle, Bucky can see the thin purple veins of his eyelids, the length of his soft eyelashes. Bucky’s chest tightens. Steve is so small like this, so fragile and easily broken. 

It’s scaring the shit out of him, honestly. It’s a fucking miracle Steve isn’t carrying around his childhood illnesses as well. That would be more than Bucky could handle. The hours Bucky spent slumped over in a chair at Steve’s bedside while his best friend wheezed and coughed himself through another dangerous bout of asthma. As Steve sweated and whimpered through another fever, this one all that much worse than the last. Jesus. Bucky couldn’t have done it again.

Honestly, Bucky has no idea how Sarah Rogers had done it at all. How she had watched her little boy weave his winding path out of childhood, paying for medicine they couldn’t afford, holding vigils at his bedside, begging and praying that he would make it through this flu, this pneumonia, this infection. 

“You have to get better, Steve,” Bucky pleads just like he had pleaded back then. “I can’t do this without you, pal. You’ve got to get better for me, I need you around. Til the end of the line.” 

Steve stirs against Bucky’s chest, bright blue eyes peeking up at him. “Bucky?” 

“Hey,” Bucky whispers, throat tight. He presses his thumb against Steve’s soft, warm cheek.

“You look sad.” Steve frowns, tiny fingers cupping Bucky’s chin.

“I’m a little sad,” Bucky allows. 

Steve pushes his head up under Bucky’s chin, nuzzling into him like a cat. “Don’t be sad, Bucky, I love you.” 

Bucky’s heart drops out of his chest at the innocent surety of that statement before yo-yoing back into place. “Love you too, Steve, so much.” He kisses the crown of Steve’s head. 

“I love you so you can’t be sad, Bucky, ‘cuz I love you,” Steve explains. 

“Right, of course,” Bucky apologizes, “thanks, pal.” Bucky drags Steve back down against his chest, ignoring the way his heart doesn’t seem to know what to do beside twist painfully. “Go back to sleep. Sam is coming over later to make us dinner and you can’t go throwing him out of the house like you did Natasha just because you’re cranky.”

“I said I was sorry,” Steve says petulantly, slinking back beneath the blanket so only the fuzzy top of his head is visible.

XxXxX

A few hours later, Sam is kicking lightly at Bucky’s socked foot. “Hey, you eating with us or what?”

“Do you think Steve would be mad if I ate in my room?” Bucky asks, twisting to look over the couch at where Steve is stabbing excitedly at the air with his foam sword. They’d been playing pirates when Sam showed up ready to make spaghetti. 

Sam studies Bucky for a moment, idly continuing to kick at the sole of Bucky’s foot. “We’ll tell him you have grown-up work to do, so he doesn’t worry.”

“Thanks,” Bucky breathes in need of a break. He curls upright, accepting Sam’s hand to pull him to his feet.

“Of course, man.” Sam claps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze. “This is intense right now, but we’re going to figure it out. Tony and Bruce are burning that midnight oil.” Bucky tries to be comforted by this and mostly fails. Sam lets him go with a final pat to his shoulder.

“Hey there, little man,” Sam says, crossing to the Steve. He ruffles Steve’s soft hair before steering him by the shoulder towards his seat at the table. “Your pal here has to go take care of some business. So you and I are going to hold down the fort while he does, okay? Eat until there’s no noodles left.”

Steve, whose still grinning like it’s Christmas come early, turns his bright eyes on Bucky. “You gotsa a job, Buck?”

Bucky smirks tiredly. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Can I help you with it?” Steve sits up perfectly straight to prove he’s ready for any job Bucky has for him. 

Bucky’s mouth quirks up at the corner. “That’s real nice of you, Stevie, but then who would be here to eat Sam’s spaghetti?”

Steve shifts his attention to Sam who is sitting across the table from Steve, twirling pasta onto his fork. He lifts a questioning eyebrow at Steve. “You gonna make me eat all alone, Steve?”

“Nope!” Steve shouts, snatching up his child sized fork and jabbing it at his pasta. In mere seconds, his face is smeared with red tomato sauce. 

Laughing, Bucky presses a kiss to Steve’s messy cheek before carrying his own bowl of pasta back to his room. Once he inside, he sets the bowl on the nightstand and drags his computer out from under the bed. 

Turning it on, he pulls up the encrypted messaging system Tony had set up for the Avengers Initiative. _Results?_ he types.

It’s five long minutes before anyone responds. The response, _working on it,_ is not at all what Bucky is in the mood to read. 

He slams the lid on the laptop, tossing it haphazardly across his bed. His eyes slide to the pasta that he doesn’t feel like eating. He opts to dump the pasta in the potted plant Darcy had given him to bring ‘color’ into his room. Then Bucky sets the empty bowl on his nightstand, lies face down on his bed, clutches his pillow to his face, and screams until his vocal chords hurt.

XxXxX

Bucky must have fallen asleep or the wild screech Steve emits moments before he jumps across Bucky’s bed and slams both knees into his back wouldn’t be nearly as disorienting. “Bucky get up!” he shrieks excitedly.

Bucky shoves his head back under his pillow with a glare. “I’m sleeping, Steve, play with Sam.”

“No, I wanna play with you,” Steve retorts. 

“Sleeping,” Bucky growls.

“Bucky!” Steve whines, drawing out the vowels. 

“Stop it,” Bucky insists. “Go play with Sam. Now.” 

“No.” Steve’s fingers snare in Bucky’s hair, tugging painfully. 

“Steve!” Bucky snaps, suddenly fed up.

Steve falls instantly silent, slipping off Bucky’s back and standing hesitantly at his side. “I didn’t mean to,” Steve says uncertainly.

Bucky’s groans, burying his face back in his pillow as shame licks up his sides. He knows it’s stupid, that he shouldn’t have yelled at Steve, especially after letting the kid have the run of the place all day, but still, he can’t get himself together enough to apologize. He’d gone to sleep in a horrible mood and woken up in one no better. 

“Sam?” Steve asks hesitantly as a shadow comes to stand in the doorway.

Sam sighs. “Come on, little man. Bucky needs he’s beauty rest. I shouldn’t have sent you in to get him. Let’s go make more pictures.”

Steve doesn’t move right away, his slight weight causing a depression in the mattress. When Bucky says nothing, he drops down to the floor. “Okay,” he says glumly. 

Bucky waits for the door to close before he lets loose with every shitty name he can think to call himself. Bucky is fucking this up. Steve needs him to hold it together until this is sorted and what is Bucky doing but hiding out in his bedroom and getting pissed at Steve for acting like the little kid he is. 

Bucky’s not cut out for this. Steve needs someone who can handle all of this without having a meltdown. Someone like Natasha or Sam, not Bucky who’s losing it without Steve there to ground him. Fuck. Natasha had been right, Steve needs him to bow out if he can’t handle this. Sooner rather than later before it hurts Steve. 

Bucky grabs his computer from where it had traveled to the foot of the mattress during Steve’s jumping. He shoves it, along with a hasty grab of clothes, into his backpack. He casts a wild glance around his room for the one other thing he needs before he can leave. He finds the photo in Darcy’s frame on the top shelf of his closet. Once he has that packed as well, Bucky throws a look over his shoulder to his bedroom door; beyond it, he can hear Sam and Steve chattering away in subdued voices. 

Sam can handle this. He’ll be able to handle it a lot better than Bucky. Steve will be happy. He won’t even notice Bucky’s gone. And when Bucky leaves, he’ll be able to start hunting for a cure to fucking blow darts that de-age super soldiers. 

It’s the best plan of action. 

Steve’s voice picks up in the other room as Bucky unlocks his window, sliding it open. “Is Bucky mad at me?” 

Bucky freezes, one leg already hooking upward to slip out the window onto the fire escape. 

“Hey, man, he’s not mad at you,” Sam assures. “Just his job, it’s getting him down.”

Steve’s quiet for a moment. “He was mad in the morning too. About his shower.”

“Grown-ups get mad sometimes,” Sam allows, “but that doesn’t mean Bucky doesn’t still love you.”

“I don’t want Bucky to be mad at me.” Steve sounds close to tears and it rips right into Bucky’s heart. 

Fucking hell. Bucky throws his backpack across the room, not sparing a thought for his badly abused computer. He jerks the window shut before vaulting over his bed and wrenching open his door.

“Steven Grant Rogers, you get over here right now!” 

In a scramble of tiny limbs, Steve flies down the hallway, his eyes wide and guilty. Bucky drops to his knees the second Steve is within reach, dragging him forward in a desperate hug. Steve lets out a quiet meep of relief before latching both arms around Bucky’s neck and kneeing his way up until Bucky is holding him.

“I am not mad at you, pal, not ever. Not even when you make me crazy. I love you so much nothing else even comes close, okay?” Bucky shoves his face against the side of Steve’s neck, his nose cold against the soft skin that smells faintly of spaghetti. 

Steve pants little breaths into Bucky’s neck. “I love you too, Bucky, the mostest in the whole world, promise.” His fingers tangle up in the long strands of Bucky’s hair, tugging at it comfortingly. 

Bucky cracks out a broken laugh, kissing the juncture between Steve’s neck and his shoulder hard. “That’s a lot then.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, snuggling against Bucky. “I didn’t mean to make you mad. Sorry.”

“You didn’t,” Bucky swears. “Just had a hard day is all. I’m real sorry I took it out on you. I promise I won’t do it again, pal.”

“And you’ll read me _Click Clack Moo_ again?” Steve wheedles, pulling back to quirk a light blonde brow at Bucky and Bucky knows his sins have been absolved.

“One hundred times if you want.” 

Steve grins triumphantly, crawling further up Bucky as if he’s worried Bucky’s going to set him back down instead of keeping him held safely in his arms. “One hundred million?” he presses. 

Bucky twists around to see Sam watching him intently. “One hundred billion,” Bucky counters, but his eyes are locked on Sam. 

Sam crosses his arms over his chest, silently asking, do you have this? Is this going to be a problem for you? Do I need to take over? 

Bucky shakes his head, he’s got his priorities straight again. Pushing up to his feet, he carries a happily wiggling Steve with him into the living room, settling them both down on the couch.

Steve’s drawings are spread all over the coffee table; detailed renditions for a four year old, but Steve had always been naturally talented. Even his little blobby people look worthy of an art gallery showing. “What’s all this?” Bucky asks.

Steve twists around in his arms to look down at the drawings. “That’s you!” He points to the picture on the far left.

Bucky picks it up with his free hand, staring at the blob with a silver line for one arm. He grins. “Looks real good, Stevie, best picture anyone ever drew of me.”

Pleased, Steve giggles, ducking his head under Bucky’s chin before pointing to another picture. “That’s you and me.”

Bucky picks this one up as well. Above a tiny Steve blob and a bigger Bucky blob is a blobby pink heart. Warmth rushes through Bucky’s chest, he presses a hard kiss to Steve’s temple. “We should put this one on the fridge, don’t you think?”

“Yeah!” Steve enthuses, wriggling free of Bucky’s grasp and snatching the picture up, running into the kitchen with it.

In his absence, Sam sits down next to Bucky, his expression hard. “I know this is a lot, Bucky,” he says, voice quiet so as not to be over heard. “But you don’t have to do this alone. We’ve got you, man, whenever you need us. He needs you too but that doesn’t mean it’s always got to be you.”

Bucky nods sharply. “I know. I’ve got this though.”

Sam tilts his head to the side, unimpressed. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot of stuff, but you don’t have this and there isn’t anything to be ashamed about that.”

Instead of answering, Bucky shifts through the other pictures littering the coffee table. “Do they know when . . . “ Bucky trails off, looking over the couch to where Steve’s arranging and rearranging the magnets on his drawings. 

“They’re getting closer.” 

“Right,” Bucky exhales. 

“Why don’t you let me take care of the rest of the night? We’ll break protocol, let you get out of here for a bit. Maybe a run around the block or a visit to the gym? I’ll give Steve a bath, get him settled for bed?”

Bucky’s thoughts jerk to his discarded backpack, he shakes his head tightly. “I’m fine. We’re fine,” he corrects. 

Steve races back, throwing himself at the couch and scrambling his way over to land in a heap on Bucky’s lap. He glances cheerfully at Sam then back at Bucky. “Bucky’s my best friend,” he announces in that gleeful way kids have of bragging about something they think everyone else should be jealous of.

“Seems like a pretty good one,” Sam says with a kind smile.

“The best,” Steve corrects loftily, picking up Bucky’s metal hand and sliding his nimble fingers across the plates and joints. “He had to get a new arm cuz his old one got hurted. Do you have a special arm?” He squints suspiciously at Sam.

Sam coughs, lips pressing tightly together to avoid smiling. “No, I don’t have a special arm, but I do have special wings.”

Steve’s jaw drops a fraction of an inch before his eyes narrow to slits. “Wings?”

Experiencing a sudden flash of jealously, Bucky rolls his eyes at himself. He is not going to be jealous that Steve at four thinks Sam’s admittedly awesome wings are cooler than Bucky’s arm. He is not. 

“Mhm,” Sam says smugly. “I strap them on my back and go flying all over the city.”

“Like a bird?” Steve asks curiously.

“Just like that. My friends call me Falcon,” Sam preens. 

Steve frowns. “What’s a falcon?”

Sam grabs a piece of blank paper and hastily sketches out a falcon. “A bird that looks like this.”

Dropping Bucky’s hand, Steve accepts the picture and scrutinizes it. “Can I see them, please?” Steve asks, practicing his best manors. Bucky ruffles up his hair in fond aggravation. 

“My wings? Sure,” Sam agrees. “Next time I come visit, I’ll bring them with me, okay?”

Steve nods, handing the picture back to Sam and tucking himself securely under Bucky’s arm, curiosity satiated for the moment. “And now you’re going home? Because it’s all night out and you hasta get to your wings?” Steve blinks at Sam innocently, aiming for polite interest and missing by a mile. 

Bucky breaks up laughing, his jealousy receding like the tide. “Geez, pal, real smooth.”

“Bucky,” Steve whines, clutching at his metal arm. “I missed you all day!”

Sam chuckles, standing up and smoothing out his jeans. “Yeah, okay, I get the message. See you later, okay, little man?”

“Bye, Sam!” Steve shouts before turning around in Bucky’s lap to stare up at his best friend. “Can we play pirates again?”

Bucky smirks, ducking his head down to rub his nose over Steve’s. “Sure, pal, we can play whatever you want. I missed you too.” Steve beams.

XxXxX

It’s well on midnight but Bucky can’t fall asleep. His thoughts keep ticking over, replaying the fight from the day before. He should have been faster. Shouldn’t have separated from Steve and the others. He should have been there for Steve, should have done something.

He rolls onto his back, metal fist clenching at his side. It doesn’t matter. They’re going to make it out of this. They’re going to be fine. They’ve made it out of every other shitty ass thing life has thrown at them after all. 

The bedroom door creaks, immediately proceeded by a soft scared voice asking, “Bucky?” 

“What’s wrong, Stevie?” Bucky asks, sitting up, covers pooling at his waist. He holds his arms open for Steve who throws himself at Bucky, mashing his wet cheeks against Bucky’s neck. 

“I had scary dreams,” Steve whispers, words thick from tears.

“Want to tell me about them?” Bucky offers, right hand rubbing wide circles over Steve’s small back.

Steve defers, little fingers digging painfully into Bucky’s bare shoulders. “I want to sleep with you, Bucky. Please? Please, can I?”

“Of course, pal,” Bucky agrees. He lays them back, settling Steve securely on his chest, Steve’s face still pressed into his neck. 

“Bucky, where’s my mom?” Steve asks sadly, fingers working themselves to tangle in Bucky’s hair instead of his shoulders.

Bucky’s heart clenches. “She’s got a long shift at the hospital, Stevie. But I promise, soon as she’s done, she’s gonna come get you right away.”

Steve hushes out a breath. “She’s loves me.”

Bucky aches desperately to make things okay for Steve. To soothe his fears and fill up the loneliness of a little boy missing his mom. The best he can do is hold onto Steve more tightly. “Yeah, pal, she does. So much. She loves you so much, Stevie, you don’t even know. It’s crazy.”

Steve snuggles closer, a weak smile brushing against Bucky’s neck. “Yeah,” he agrees, spirits a little higher.

As the seconds tick over into minutes, Bucky’s fingers draw absentminded shapes across the soft fabric of Steve’s pajama top, waiting for Steve to fall back asleep. Instead, Steve shifts until he’s curled up with his head on Bucky’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.

“Bucky?” he asks, fingers tickling against Bucky’s sides. 

“Hm?” Bucky hums, wondering if he should shut the window, maybe the city noise is keeping Steve awake. 

“Are you always going to be bigger than me?” Childish uncertainty marks the question. 

Bucky ruffles his hand through Steve’s hair, focusing on keeping his voice calm instead of worried. “Nah, Steve, just for a little while, promise. Then it’s gonna be you and me like always.”

Steve props his pointy chin up on Bucky’s chest, looking at him in the dark with wide luminous eyes. “I miss you being little, Bucky,” Steve confesses.

Bucky pinches his eyes closed. “I miss you too, pal, so much.”

Steve smashes his face abruptly against Bucky’s cheek in his now customary kiss before he snuggles back down on Bucky’s chest. “Promise to wake me up if I have bad dream?" He tucks one hand safely in Bucky’s. 

“Always,” Bucky promises, squeezing Steve’s hand lightly. 

“Love you, Bucky,” Steve says around a tiny yawn.

“Love you too, pal, love you too.”

XxXxX

Steve is perched in the middle of Bucky’s back, a piece of paper scuffing against Bucky’s red tank top. Bucky’s black sweat pants dig uncomfortably into his hip bones as Bucky presses up into a push-up. Waking up at the crack of dawn, Bucky had been hoping for any kind of news. Any indication from the rest of the Avengers about when they would be getting full sized Steve Rogers back. Tony’s entirely unhelpful response had been that they were still working on it. The morning had only gone more ragged from there. Bucky is fairly certain these sweatpants aren’t even his, which would account for the pinching waistband. Steve and his freakishly small waist.

Then Steve had woken up and insisted on dressing himself. He’d ended up in a pair of tiny boxers with seahorses on them, no shirt, and a set of kid’s red soccer socks Natasha had bought him for some reason. Bucky had argued earnestly for a shirt. Steve had refused, citing, “I don’t hasta,” as his valid reasoning. 

Bucky pushes down and back up again. Steve breaks out in excited giggles, pitching himself forward then righting himself so his tiny heels dig firmly into the planes of Bucky’s lower back. "Are you a pony?” Steve asks, pausing in his drawing.

Bucky scoffs. “I’m not a pony, Steve, just trying to stay limber while you play Picasso.” 

“Limber?” Steve questions, already bored of the conversation as he presses one palm down on the paper to steady it against Bucky’s moving back.

Bucky pushes down and up into another push-up. “Stretchy and stuff,” he explains haphazardly.

“Stretchy,” Steve muses, crayon rubbing hard into his drawing. 

Bucky can’t imagine what the picture is of. Steve’s repertoire from the previous day consists of about a dozen pictures of him and Bucky, another handful of Natasha, and several more of Sam. Then there had been the menagerie of disproportional animals Steve had painstakingly crafted. The terrifying bird with talons about a mile long that Steve claims is a falcon had featured in the vast majority of those. 

They continue in peaceable silence, Bucky moving on from his repetition of standard push-ups to one armed push-ups, his free hand arching back to press securely against Steve’s small spine, holding him in place. Steve seems to enjoy himself, cracking up every time Bucky shifts into a new position and Steve’s precarious seat is jostled.

Bucky’s contemplating what he can scrape together for lunch when a footfall in the hallway halts his movement. Bucky’s an ex-super spy, he knows precisely what Natasha and Sam's footsteps sound like, half of SHIELD's for that matter. This is registering as unfamiliar. Without really thinking about it, Bucky scoops Steve off his back with his metal arm and tucks the kid safely against his chest. 

Steve looks up perturbed, wispy brows pulled down in consternation at having his art time cut short. A look at Bucky and he huddles silently closer, arm winding around Bucky’s metal elbow. “What’s wrong, Buck?” he whispers scared. 

Bucky doesn’t get a chance to answer. The next moment, a barrage of bullets lets loose through the apartment door. Bucky tucks and rolls with Steve pressed painfully close to his chest. He dodges upright in the hallway and sprints to his room, Steve deathly silent. 

Skidding into his bedroom, Bucky grabs his backpack from where it’s thrown at the bottom of his closet. Ducking towards the window, Bucky makes a wild grab beneath his bed, fingers running along the edge of Steve’s shield. He slings the backpack over his shoulder, curves the shield around Steve’s very bare body, and kicks through his bedroom window. 

Steve screams at the sound of breaking glass. Bucky barrels out the window, shield leading the way. Glass shards catch in his hair and he tries to shake them out as he takes off down the fire escape, jumping from landing to landing, clutching Steve desperately against him as he goes. 

Above them, the shooters have made it into the apartment; he can hear them shouting to one another as they case the rooms. It’ll only be minutes before they discover the broken exit window in Bucky’s room. They’ve still got two stories to go when Bucky decides, fuck it, and leaps the rest of the way down to the cement sidewalk. 

Steve screams shrilly before he breaks out crying, arms winding up around Bucky’s neck fit to choke him. Bucky wants to be reassuring but his mind is focused on getting them the fuck out of there before Steve gets hurt. 

Bucky sprints down the sidewalk, glass cuts along Bucky’s back bleeding freely. He’s got the shield hooked on the arm holding Steve, trying to protect him as best as possible. With his free hand, Bucky reaches back, groping blindly through his backpack until his fingers catch on the barrel of his gun. Beneath his bare feet, the gravel grinds into his skin. 

They’re rounding the corner of the block as Bucky pulls out his gun and switches off the safety. His eyes scan wildly for cover. They are cars parked along the side of the street but Bucky’s mind keeps flashing back to the grenade he had rolled under the SUV when he’d been chasing after Natasha. 

Steve’s wailing, terrified, fingernails biting into Bucky’s neck. The pedestrians on the street are gawking as Bucky and Steve go flying past. He’s hoping one of them will think to call the police, Bucky’s own cell phone is sitting uselessly on the coffee table. 

Before they hit the end of the next block, a bullet whizzes past close enough to Bucky’s ear to nick it. He drops to the sidewalk and ducks behind a car. Steve’s screaming louder than ever, nails scratching painful into Bucky’s bare skin as he scrabbles to latch himself more securely to Bucky. 

“You’ve got to stay down,” Bucky tries to explain as he attempts to disentangle himself from Steve, shoving the shield into Steve’s small arms so that it covers his entire body.

“Bucky! Bucky!” Steve’s gasps in between heavy cries.

“Stay down!” Bucky shouts, shoving the shield and Steve to the left of him. 

Bucky pops up over the hood of the car, taking a quick scan for their attackers, dropping back down as another set of bullets splinter the tree behind him. Bucky darts a look at Steve, trembling as he works to hold up the shield, terrified eyes locked on Bucky. 

“We’re fine, Steve,” Bucky lies placidly before popping up again and aiming in the direction of the two partially masked men tracking them. 

He takes them down with a bullet to the head each. There’s no wavering feeling of remorse for the kill shots as he grabs hold of Steve and the shield, taking off down the street. Steve’s crying in earnest now, wriggling desperately in Bucky’s hold. 

“Quit it!” Bucky commands, hoisting Steve closer to him, barricading him in with the shield, free hand still gripped firmly on the gun. 

They’re weaving their way away from the apartment, dodging down streets, through parks, anything to put distance between them and the people shooting at them, when a black SUV swerves into their path near an intersection. Bucky drops down to his heels, swinging Steve behind his back with one arm and raising his other to point his gun at the driver. 

Steve cowers against him, the shield effectively trapping him against Bucky’s back. Bucky’s heart is going a mile a minute, but he’s calm. This he can do, this he is used to. He can die for Steve, that’s something he has always been capable of. 

“You’re going to have to run,” Bucky instructs Steve.

Steve stills behind him. “Run?”

“Yeah. As far as you can, as fast as you can, and then you’re going to hide until Natasha or Sam come for you,” Bucky says, praying that Steve will listen to him. 

“Bucky – “ Steve starts, his voice frightened.

The driver shoots out the windshield and Bucky shoots back, shoving Steve harshly. “Go!” Steve trips over the heavy shield and lets out a wail of terror, latching himself to Bucky’s back in his fear. 

“I said fucking run!” Bucky shouts desperately. They’re sitting ducks like this, as soon as Bucky is taken out, even with the shield to take a round or two, Steve’ll be dead. 

“No, Bucky! No,” Steve cries, burying his face against the back of Bucky’s neck.

Bucky’s going to run out of bullets eventually, his emergency backpack isn’t stockpiled with ammo. He’s at the corner of an intersection with absolutely no cover, the fucking psychos in the SUV are shooting at him like it’s target practice, and he’s got the child version of Captain America clinging to his back like a koala. It is not remotely a good fucking day. 

“Steve, run!” Bucky tries again, metal hand attempting to pry Steve free. 

“No, Bucky! Don’t leave me,” Steve pleads, his tears soaking into Bucky’s hair. “I’m scared!”

“Jesus, fuck, Steve!” Bucky scuttles them backwards, hoisting Steve and the shield enough to move them as the shooter inside the SUV continues to blessedly miss. Well, sort of. A bullet grazes Bucky’s right arm and another pings off his metal shoulder. As long as the bullets aren’t hitting Steve, Bucky’s counting it as a win.

“Please, Steve,” Bucky pleads, trying to edge them towards the shrubs decorating the side of an apartment building. The driver kicks open his car door, shifting behind it for a better vantage point. 

Bucky pops off a couple shots toward the tinted window of the SUV door before another volley shoots back at him. Two hit the metal arm and the third nails him in the thigh. Bucky grunts, getting shot fucking sucks. Super healing or not, it is still an absolute bitch. 

“Steve, you have got to fucking run,” Bucky pleads desperately. 

Steve sobs, petrified, against Bucky’s back, fingers snared in so deep they are tearing through the fabric of Bucky’s tank top. Bucky’s terrified he won’t be able to get them out of this one. That on his own, Bucky isn’t going to be enough to keep his best friend safe let alone alive. He’s going to die trying, but he’s going to die just the same and Steve will be left alone, defenseless. The fear is crippling and Bucky is fighting against himself to keep his head in the game. 

There has got to be something, some way. Another shot ricochets off his arm as Bucky’s eyes dart around for anything, anything at all. Someone has to be coming for them. Bucky only needs to try and last until the rescue squad comes. He just needs to play human shield long enough for someone else to rescue Steve.

Bucky shoves Steve back with him through the dirt of the hedges, pressing them low to the ground. The damn things are tall enough that sprawled on the ground like they are, Steve and Bucky shouldn’t be visible from the road. Of course, the driver is just going to keep shooting wildly into hedges until he gets up the balls to come over to them and pick Bucky off like a fish in barrel, but for the moment, it’s the best thing Bucky’s got. 

Bucky’s backpack is slung open on the ground behind them. He glances at it as he shoots blindly out of the hedges with the last of his bullets. He looks at Steve, tiny and terrified, the shield dwarfing him, and Bucky makes up his mind. 

Suicide mission. That’s what they are going to tell Steve when he’s himself again, if that ever happens. That’s okay though. Steve will understand, and if he doesn’t, well, Bucky’s going to be dead, so Steve won’t be able to bitch at him about it until the afterlife. 

Bucky grabs Steve around the neck, presses a hard kissed to his hairline. “I love you, Steve, more than anything.”

Steve chokes on a sob, his eyes wide and horrified. “Bucky?” he hiccups.

Bucky forces a smile that’s probably more of a snarl. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me. Best friend a guy could ever have and I’m always going to love you.”

Then Bucky grabs the knife out of his backpack and tugs the shield around so it’s in front of Steve rather than behind him. Kicking up from the ground, Bucky sprints at the car, weaving this way and that. Steve screams bloody murder behind him and the shooter sprays bullets in the sweeping arc of Bucky’s trajectory. 

They’re mostly misses. One nicks Bucky in the leg as he gets to the car, jumping up and running over the hood. He leaps over the door, aiming a punch at the guy’s head. A bullet rips through Bucky’s side, a fierce burn he puts at the back of his mind. Bucky lands with one knee on the ground, the gunman sprawled on the pavement in front of him. Ripping the gun free from the guy’s hand, Bucky brings his knife down across the guy’s neck. It isn’t pretty, the spray of blood that splatter’s across Bucky’s face and chest, but the guy is dead.

Jumping back up, Bucky ducks into the car, gun at the ready, but it’s empty inside. He whirls around, the shooter’s gun in his hand as he scans the area for any other attackers but finds none. He glances down at his blood covered chest and blinks blankly at himself. Turning, he squints through the windshield and sees the shield dropped at Steve’s feet as he screams Bucky’s name in an endless litany. 

“Enjoying your adventures in babysitting?” a mechanical voice asks. 

Bewildered, Bucky tips his head back, eyes burning in the morning light as he watches Iron Man descend mere feet away from Steve. “About fucking time,” Bucky calls over. 

Iron Man flips him off and there is a brief moment of relief before Bucky sees the ground tilting sideways, rushing up at him with more speed than it ought to for a surface that doesn’t move. He thinks he hears Steve crying for him and his last thought is that Stark better have the brains not to let baby Steve Rogers see Bucky blood covered and lying next to a man he killed. That kind of shit could cause irreversible damage, Bucky is sure. Then his world grays out.

XxXxX

The steady beeping of hospital machines tells Bucky he is alive. Beyond that, his body feels like complete shit that has been set afire; his eyes burn even though they’re closed, his throat is the Sahara Desert. Bucky flexes his metal fingers, since his arm is the single part of his body not in pain, and finds the movement impeded.

Gritting his teeth, Bucky forces his eyes open to slits to find out what the fuck is wrong with his hand. And holy fucking shit -

“Steve, Steve!” he rasps, lunging for his adult sized best friend who is slumped over on Bucky’s hospital bed, hand entangled with Bucky’s metal one.

Steve jerks upright, startling awake. “Jesus! Bucky!” He kicks over the visitor’s chair in his haste to get to Bucky and with no compunction, shoves Bucky over on the bed to clamber in beside him. 

Bucky lets out a groan of protest because, holy hell that hurts, he has several body parts repairing themselves after all. Steve at least has the decency to look guilty before gently cupping Bucky’s face in his hands and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. 

“You are such an asshole,” Steve whispers shakily.

“Yeah, probably,” Bucky agrees, running his eyes over Steve’s perfect face and sky blue eyes. He can’t begin to imagine what Steve does or doesn’t remember. “What'd I do this time?”

Steve wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulders, letting Bucky slump somewhat comfortably into his solid chest. “Well, I mean, for starters, you wouldn’t let me eat chocolate for dinner.”

Bucky chokes out a surprised laugh. “Shit, you remember?”

Steve shrugs softly, trying not to disturb Bucky too much. “It’s pretty hazy, like a fever dream, you know? But I’ve still got the basic outline. And I’m going to be damn unhappy if the gunmen destroyed any of my crayon creations.”

Bucky grins tiredly, reaching his metal hand up to pat consolingly at Steve’s cheek. “They were masterpieces, Stevie. True works of genius.”

Steve chuckles, bending over to press a kiss to the crown of Bucky’s head. “Yeah, well, you’ve always been my biggest fan, so I’m not too sure how much that praise holds up.”

“It holds up,” Bucky argues. He exhales heavily, the healing process of his body draining his energy relentlessly. But he’s still got unanswered questions and he’d rather not succumb to sleep before having them answered. “Do I gotta worry about you shrinking down again?”

“Taken care of,” Steve assures. “They were an anti-Captain America faction from South Dakota apparently. Got mixed up in some experimental stuff they stole from some guy going by the name of Doctor Strange.”

Bucky huffs his disapproval. “The hell kind of name is that?”

“Dunno. Just know that Tony arrested the remains of the group while Dr. Banner administered the antidote to me. And all that time, you were here playing Sleeping Beauty,” Steve teases, his fingers running over Bucky’s metal fingers before interlacing them. 

“Hey, I’ve been taking care of a four year old. That is a hell of a lot of work I’ll have you know. Then I got shot for my efforts. It’s been a trying few days, cut me some slack.” Bucky lets his eyes fall shut, settled now that he doesn’t have to be on the lookout for criminals hoping to off Captain America via de-aging blow darts. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees softly, “you have, Buck. I woke up and Bruce told me what happened, it was still coming back to me in those hazy patches and I felt like complete shit. Leaving you like that.”

Bucky heaves out a heavy breath. “You’re not wrong. Was losing my mind thinking I might not get you back. Promised myself I’d find a way to shrink down too if they couldn’t figure out a cure. We’d just have to grow up all over again and I’d have to hope you’d be stupid enough to fall for being my best friend again.”

Steve ducks his head down, kissing Bucky. “I’d always fall for you, pal, no matter the age or century.”

Bucky grins tiredly. “You better, you’re my whole goddamn world, Steve. I even love you enough to forgive you for biting me.”

Steve bursts out laughing. “I forgot about that!” He reaches for Bucky’s right hand, lifting it up and inspecting it for the long since vanished teeth imprints.

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky sighs, eyes falling shut as he slumps into Steve’s sturdy side, “your teeth are real sharp, pal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it to the end, you have all my love <3 Also, I never intended for the story to be as unnecessarily long as it is, which is a joke since I ended up cutting a ton of scenes just to get it to this size. So if you are ever feeling like, hey, I could totally go for a scene about Bucky & kid!steve making pancakes, or playing pirates, or getting ready for bath time, or small baby child marriage proposals? Hit me up. They are all just waiting in the darkness of my saved .docs for you. 
> 
>   **Edit:** In a shocking turn of events, I am not the only one who is totally up for little kid Steve and shameless fluff! What a wonderful world we live in =] I've got 3 outtakes I'm going to post as chapters of this story for those of you who want to read all about those pancakes, the high seas, and baby child proposals. They take place during the events of this story.  <3
> 
> [tumblr](http://blueeyeschina.tumblr.com)


	2. Pancakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place the morning after Bucky first brings Steve home, obviously when they are discussing making pancakes. That's literally all this is, they make pancakes, everything is happy. Yay, pancakes!

“So, pancakes,” Bucky says, turning to survey their kitchen cabinets. 

Steve’s eyes light up. “Can I watch?”

“Sure,” Bucky allows. He scoops Steve up, dragging the chair with them into the kitchen. Bucky situates it against the countertop, making sure it’s far enough from the stove that, should Steve get a little over excited, he won’t be in danger of burning himself. 

Setting Steve back on the chair, Bucky tilts his head to the left and then the right, looking blankly at their cabinets. He and Steve aren’t really breakfast people. They more into lunch. Sandwiches, subs, pasta, salads, chili, all that crap. Breakfast though, that’s more touch and go. Some cereal. A granola bar. Still, they probably have the stuff needed for pancakes. 

Looking back at Steve, Bucky asks, “Think we got any flour?” 

Steve shrugs his thin shoulders, watching the proceedings with interest. “Pick me up and I’ll help you look,” he offers earnestly.

Bucky busts up laughing. “Pick you up, pal?”

Steve props his hands on his hips. “Yeah, so I can see.” 

Never, in all his life, has Bucky ever heard Steve Rogers ask to be picked up. Even when his head only came to Bucky's shoulder, he stood his ground firmly. So it's hilarious now, to hear Steve asking so frankly to be picked up. Smiling, Bucky drops low and motions Steve toward him. “Okay then, climb on my back.”

Steve lets out an excited squeak and clambers up eagerly, legs going only halfway around Bucky’s sides and his arms locking around Bucky’s neck. Bucky's got one hand cupped under Steve’s bottom so he can’t fall. “Now I’m as tall as you!” Steve crows victoriously when Bucky stands up. 

Bucky’s grin only grows at Steve’s enthusiasm. “That’s great, you’ll be able to help me find the flour super fast now.” 

“Uh-huh!” Steve nods, one hand releasing Bucky to point at a cabinet. “Open that one!” 

Bucky does as he’s told, pulling open the cabinet and shifting slightly through the contents. 

“Nope!” Steve announces and uses his new grip on Bucky’s long hair to steer him to the next cabinet. 

“Any of this?” Bucky asks, craning his neck as much as Steve’s grip allows to see what’s behind their canned goods. 

“Uhm . . .” Steve leans forward until he’s bent half over Bucky’s head. “Nope!”

“Okay, onto the next.” Bucky turns around, opening the cabinet over the stove. 

“There!” Steve shrieks. Bucky cringes at the piercing exclamation but smiles all the same. “Right there, Buck, right there.” Steve wriggles around, one hand pointing into the cabinet to try and direct Bucky.

“Hey, cool it, will ya?” Bucky asks, clamping his hand more tightly on Steve. 

Steve sighs, wounded. “It’s right there, Buck, and you won’t even let me help you get it.”

“You’re the one who found it, Stevie, you’re doing lots of helping. And it would help me even more if you would settle down so I can get the flour with dropping you, yeah?” he negotiates.

Steve considers this, wriggling around just to be contrary, before abruptly going completely still. “M’kay, Bucky.”

Bucky smirks. “Thanks, pal, you’re real swell.”

Steve giggles, ducking his face into the back of Bucky’s neck against his dark hair. Bucky shoves a canister of oatmeal out of the way, digs past a few half full bags of chips, and low and behold – flour. 

“Good pair of eyes you got on you, Steve,” Bucky praises, freeing the package of flour. 

Steve hums proudly, tugging happily on Bucky’s hair. “What else do we need, Bucky?”

XxXxX

It takes another ten minutes to find the rest of the ingredients. Bucky has to stop to look up a recipe on his phone because after the flour he realizes he’s never made pancakes before. Now all of the ingredients are lined up on the counter and Steve is helping him dump them into a big mixing bowl they only ever use when making large salads.Steve’s half covered in white dust. Measuring cups proved to be just a bit outside of four year old Steve’s repertoire.

“I want to taste the salt,” Steve decrees, pointing at the bag of salt on the counter. 

Bucky laughs. “You sure, pal?”

“Mhm,” Steve says. 

Bucky shrugs and pushes the bag closer to him. Steve sticks his tiny index finger inside until he’s got a few salt crystals clinging to his fingertip. Then he sticks out his small pink tongue and touches his finger to it. Immediately his face wrinkles up in disgust and he lurches off the chair towards the sink. 

“Help!” he wails, short arms reaching up desperately toward the faucet. 

Bucky cracks up, taking pity on his mite-sized friend and grabbing Steve a cup that he fills with water before handing it off. Steve chugs all of it and demands another. “So, not a big fan of salt?” Bucky teases, ruffling his right hand affectionately over Steve’s hair. 

Steve squints up at him. “Dare you to do it, Buck, I dare you.”

This gets Bucky laughing all over again but he acquiesces, holding direct eye contact with Steve as he licks the salt from his finger. Bucky’s nose crinkles just the slightest bit. Steve notices and breaks out in little kid belly laughs. Bucky's chest fills with warmth at how happy Steve is and he can't help picking Steve up and hugging him close.

“Are you done experimenting with the spices? Can we get on with making the pancakes?” he asks, carrying Steve with him to the mixing bowl and depositing Steve back on his chair. 

Steve settles himself down enough that while he is no longer laughing, he is vibrating with excitement. “I can stir it! I’m a great stirrer, Bucky. The best. Ma said so.”

Bucky dips his thumb into the still open flour and smudges it on Steve’s nose. “How do I know you’re not just making it up? Wanting to get your dirty mitts on my pancakes?”

“Bucky!” Steve whines, dramatically pitching himself into Bucky’s side, Bucky catches him easily. “Alright, alright, have at it.” 

Steve grabs the wooden spoon off the counter and commences stirring the ever living shit out of the mix as Bucky adds the last few ingredients. Bucky leans back warily as bits of mix fly into the air and land on the countertop. 

Steve stirs until he’s panting, grinning blindingly at Bucky. “It’s ready!” Steve is highly pleased with himself as he hands off the spoon to Bucky. 

Bucky gives the bowl another couple of stirs before scooting Steve’s chair back another several inches as he turns on the stove. Using a measuring cup, Bucky dumps the first circle of mix onto the skillet. “Gotta warn you, pal,” Bucky cautions, “I’m not exactly what you would consider a professional pancake maker.”

“You’re doing so good,” Steve assures, holding onto the counter as he stares raptly at the skillet.

Bucky grins. “Glad you think so.” 

When it comes time to flip them, Steve cheers him on. “Good job, Bucky!” And when one breaks, “Don’t worry! It still looks good. I’ll eat it. I love pancakes. Even the broked ones.”  
Bucky can’t help but laugh at Steve’s exuberance. He leans close to Steve’s smiling face and kisses the flour still on his nose. “You’re the best, you know that?”

“Duh,” Steve says loftily, pushing Bucky away with a sticky hand on his cheek. “I’m your best friend. I gosta be the best. That’s how it works.” But then he grabs Bucky’s metal hand and smacks a messy kiss in the center of his palm. “You’re the bestest too, Bucky.”

XxXxX

Twenty minutes later, they’ve got a stack of six pancakes ready to be eaten and two pancakes in the garbage, burnt all to hell. Bucky sets up a plate for Steve at one of the remaining chairs around the kitchen table and his own beside it.

Steve climbs up onto his chair then looks towards Bucky. Bucky lifts his brows. “Dig in, Steve.”

Instead of picking up his fork, Steve fidgets. He sucks in his bottom lip and chews on it as he slides his eyes from Bucky back to his own red plastic plate. Bucky waits silently, fingers crossed beneath the table that Steve hasn’t suddenly decided he no longer likes pancakes and wants something entirely different. 

“Uhm, Bucky?” Steve asks, wiggling in his seat. 

Bucky watches the wiggling for another second. “You need the bathroom?” 

“No,” Steve drags the vowel out, obviously offended. “Just. I wanna sit with you.”

Bucky blinks blankly. “You are, pal. I’m right here.”

“No,” Steve repeats, his small brows descending in a familiar expression of frustration. “I wanna sit _with_ you.”

“On my lap?” Bucky clarifies, eyebrows now somewhere near his hairline. 

Steve pouts, nudging at his plate, and refusing to look at Bucky. “Yeah.”

And, just, Jesus. This kid. This kid is his best friend and apparently Steve has never grown out of the bad habits he developed as a four year old. Stubbornness, pouting, whining, aversions to personal space existing between himself and Bucky. 

On the other hand, apparently Bucky hasn’t out grown giving into whatever makes Steve happy. With an eye roll, Bucky tugs Steve’s plate directly next to his and lifts Steve from his seat, resettling Steve on his lap. 

Steve gives a happy hum, falling comfortably into the planes of Bucky’s chest, his tiny feet landing just past Bucky’s knees where they take up kicking back softly. “This is much better,” he assures Bucky. 

Bucky huffs a laugh. “Sure thing, pal. Now eat, woulda ya?”

“I love pancakes,” Steve reminds him before grabbing his fork and stabbing haphazardly at his plate. 

In the end, Steve eats a total of one pancake, absolutely swimming in syrup, and guzzles two glasses of orange juice. Bucky pokes at two pancakes before deciding pancakes aren’t really his thing. All the while, Steve rests against Bucky’s chest, chattering away happily about what they should do next time they make pancakes. Things like using chocolate chips, or strawberries, or licorice. 

Bucky scoffs, propping his chin up on Steve’s head and cutting another piece of pancake that he tries to cajole Steve into eating. “You aren’t putting licorice in my anything, pal. You know I hate it.”

“But it’s _so_ good,” Steve argues before snapping his teeth down around the fork. Bucky smiles. All in all, it’s a good morning even if Steve is less than half the size he should be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. They made pancakes. It was thrilling, I know. =] Next up, for those who are interested, pirates & bath time!


	3. Pirates & Baths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of this takes place in the afternoon after Natasha has left and before Sam has arrived to make dinner. The second half starts right after Sam has left for the night. The boys play pirates and baths are taken. That's it. Enjoy!

Bucky doesn’t know why Natasha bought the swords and he’s kind of regretting that she did as Steve laughs manically, thumping Bucky on the top of the head with one hard enough that Bucky grimaces. Jumping off the arm chair, Steve whoops out a war cry before sprinting on spindle thin legs toward the back of the apartment.

Bucky sits there for a moment on the floor, contemplating his own foam sword. “I’m coming for you, Stevie,” Bucky threatens, pushing up into a crouch.

Steve’s excited burst of laughter travels to him from the depths of the hallway. Smirking, Bucky dodges down the hallway, foam sword clutched in his metal hand. 

“Ah-ha!” Steve screeches. He comes flying out of the air, apparently haven taking a running jump off of his bed, and his sword stabs Bucky straight in the privates. “Got you, Pirate Red Star!”

Bucky collapses dramatically to the floor, one hand genuinely grabbing at his junk because holy hell, that had not been friendly fire. “Death, _death_ ,” Bucky moans, dragging out the second iteration. 

Steve gamely leaps onto Bucky, perching himself precariously and triumphantly on top of Bucky's thighs. “I killed you! Evil pirate!”

Bucky gives a final death rattle, letting his face flop to the side, tongue lolling out for effect. Steve shrieks in ecstatic laughter, throwing himself bodily down on top of Bucky and kneeing him real good in the kidney.

Bucky's groan is real this time, but he keeps his eyes pinched tight and his tongue out. Steve clambers all over him, poking and prodding at Bucky repeatedly with tiny, sharp fingers. “I’m gonna take your golds, Pirate Red Star, and buy the super biggest ice cream!”

“I don’t have any gold,” Bucky grunts as he’s poked between the ribs.

“Uh-huh. All pirates have gold.” Steve fingers quest beneath Bucky’s arm and Bucky twitches desperately against ticklishness. 

Steve freezes instantly and Bucky warily opens one eye to see what he’s doing. The look on Steve’s face can only be considered pure evil and it’s all the warning Bucky has before Steve abandons his foam sword and jabs his fingers into Bucky’s sides until Bucky is writhing on the floor with laughter, desperately attempting to bat Steve off of him without hurting him.

Steve laughing hysterically, apparently having the time of his life. “Bucky! Bucky you’re supposed ta be dead!” he giggles in admonishment.

Bucky uses the momentary distraction to grab Steve around the waist and flip them over, Steve now pinned beneath Bucky’s kneeling form. “Faked you out,” Bucky proclaims.

“Cheater!” Steve shouts, one finger stabbing Bucky hard in the chest.

“Pumpkin eater,” Bucky agrees solemnly before running his fingers over Steve’s ribs.

Steve fights against his laughter, wriggling on the floor as his whole face scrunches up. “No, no,” he pleads. 

“No?” Bucky asks, brushing his fingers over Steve’s ribs again.

A small giggle slips past and Steve stares up at Bucky with wide blue eyes. “Not tickling pirates, Bucky, we’re supposed ta be playing pirates.”

Bucky sighs dramatically before grabbing Steve’s forgotten sword and running back down the hallway to the kitchen. Steve shrieks happily and scrabbles to find Bucky’s sword. Bucky hides behind the couch, a stockpile of pillows at his feet. 

When Steve’s blonde hair appears in the living room, Bucky launches a pillow at him. It hits Steve straight in the chest who turns betrayed eyes on the couch. “This means war!” he lisps, racing toward the couch. 

Bucky cracks up, throwing another pillow at him. It his Steve square in the side and topples him over on the couch. Steve bursts into laughter, grabbing the pillow and throwing it back at Bucky over the couch. Bucky bats it away expertly with his sword. 

Steve pauses to cheer at this accomplishment. “Good job, Bucky! You’re such a great pirate.”

Bucky smirks, rolling his eyes fondly. “Gee, thanks, Steve.”

“You are,” Steve insists. “We’re gonna be the best pirates, Bucky, and save all the people that need saving, and give all our golds to the poor just like Robin Hood.”

“I’m not sure that’s exactly how that story goes,” Bucky comments, lifting his sword and pointing it at Steve. “Are you going to fight me or what, pal? Gonna turn into Grey Beard over here, waiting for you to make your move.”

Steve giggles, his cheeks flushed and his hairline sweaty. He holds open his arms, silently asking Bucky to pick him up. Bucky narrows his eyes at his friend, having fallen for this exact trick earlier in their game. Steve shakes his head innocently. “Just wants a hug.”

Suspicious but unable to deny such a request, Bucky lifts Steve into his arms. Steve wraps Bucky in a tight hug, burrowing his face into the side of Bucky’s neck where he inhales deeply, like the scent of Bucky and sweat somehow reminds him of home. 

“Love you,” Steve says.

“Love you too,” Bucky answers.

Then Steve smacks his sword into the back of Bucky’s head, leaps free of Bucky’s arms onto the couch with a wild cry, and tears down the hallway, shouting, “Come get, Dead Pirate Red Star!”

XxXxX

“I like when we play pirates,” Steve says after Sam has left.

“Mhm,” Bucky agrees, standing up from the couch and picking up Steve as he does so. “Me too.”

“Can we play pirates all night?” Steve asks, one hand snaring in Bucky’s hair as he settles his head on Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Pirates on a pirate ship even,” Bucky offers. 

Steve squeaks excitedly. “A real pirate ship?” Steve asks breathlessly.

“One in water,” Bucky promises him as he walks with Steve to Steve’s bedroom. The clothes Natasha bought are folded neatly on top of the covers, the result of one of Bucky’s afternoon chores. He snags a pair of pajamas with pirate ships printed on them, smirking at Natasha’s seeming omniscience. 

“I love pirates,” Steve says smashing his face excitedly against the side of Bucky’s head and pressing a wet kiss to the hinge of his jaw. 

“Me too,” Bucky reassures. Walking down the hallway, Bucky opens the door to the bathroom and sets Steve down next to the toilet. “Now, clothes off while I fill the tub.”

Steve’s sudden look of betrayal is utterly worth the deception. “Bucky!” he exclaims in true horror.

Bucky breaks up laughing and drags Steve in for a quick kiss to the top of his head. “Hey, you told me this morning, pal, everybody’s got to shower even if it isn’t fun.” 

Steve glares at Bucky even as his tiny hands work off his shirt, getting it stuck around his ears and breaking into muffled angry repetitions of Bucky’s name until Bucky frees him. “I want lots of bubbles,” Steve demands once he can see again. 

“Only the best for the Dread Pirate Rogers,” Bucky offers graciously. 

Steve tries to fix his glare in place but he slips up with smile. “You can’t get water in my eyes,” Steve warns him. 

“Never,” Bucky promises.

“And the water has to be hot. So so hot it makes so much steam we can’t even see! Then it’s okay for me.”

Bucky smirks. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“And I needs the ducky, the ship, and the lady bug.” Steve confiscates said items from their inviting perch on the edge of the bathtub where Bucky had set them up that afternoon. 

“As you wish,” Bucky says. 

After turning on the faucets, Bucky helps Steve out of his pants and underwear, letting him splash the lukewarm water as it fills up the tub. “Are you going to come in with me?” Steve asks, looking over his bare shoulder at Bucky.

Bucky laughs, flicking Steve gently in the back of the head. “As if, pal, I already took my shower today. Now it’s time for spaghetti covered pirates to take theirs.”

Steve huffs, but lets Bucky lift him up and place him in the bath. “All the bubbles,” he reminds Bucky firmly as he drags his fingers through the water that is up to his waist. 

“Got it.” Bucky picks up Steve’s little clothes, putting them in a heap by the door so he’ll remember them on his way out. Next, he opens the cabinet beneath the sink, taking out the bottle of bubble bath Natasha had bought them. He holds it up for Steve’s approval who nods with the strictest sense of dignity.

Uncapping the bottle, Bucky pours in a more than generous amount of bubbles. “Swirl it around for me, pirate,” Bucky instructs.

“I’ll need my sword,” Steve wheedles.

Bucky makes a face. “You gotta promise not to move a muscle if you want me to get your sword.”

Steve freezes dramatically in place, going so far as to hold his breath. Buck lifts an unimpressed eyebrow and Steve sucks in a quiet breath of air. “Promise, Bucky.”

Bucky watches him for another moment before darting into the living room and retrieving Steve’s foam sword from the foot of the couch. When he sprints back into the bathroom, Steve hasn’t moved so much as a millimeter and Bucky rewards him with a kiss to his temple and the sword. 

Steve smiles gratefully up at him. “Thanks, Buck.”

“Anything,” Bucky promises. 

Steve hums happily as he jabs his sword into the water and starts swishing it around vigorously. In no time at all, the tub is borderline overflowing with bubbles and Steve looks impossibly happily, his whole face shining with delight. Bucky smiles at him fondly, cupping water in his hand and running it gently down Steve’s back. 

This whole thing might be terrifying the fuck out of Bucky, but Steve’s still smiling and still happy, so that’s got to count for something. A whole hell of a lot of something, actually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter will be Steve's small child proposal. Oh the excitement. =]


	4. Small Baby Child Proposals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh! The time has arrived for small baby child proposals. The proposals takes place the morning of Steve's last day as four year old, before he dresses himself in nothing but shorts and soccer socks.

“Bucky,” Steve says, his nose bumping into Bucky’s, “I have a secret.”

The morning light is filtering in through Bucky’s blinds and he wonders how he managed to sleep the whole night with Steve resting on his chest. It seems like the kid should have wriggled off in the middle of the night, but Steve slept with one hand held in Bucky’s and the others fisted in Bucky’s collar. 

“Oh yeah?” Bucky asks with a helpless smile, settling his hands on Steve’s hips to hold him safely in place on Bucky’s rising and falling chest.

Steve nods very seriously. “I onlys told Ma.”

Bucky fakes a gasp that would have toppled Steve off if it wasn’t for Bucky’s steady hold on him. “You didn’t even tell me? Your oldest and best pal in the whole world?”

Steve shakes his head rapidly, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in a smile. “You wanna know it, Buck? You wanna know the secret?”

“You’ve gotta tell me, Stevie,” Bucky pleads, making his expression as wounded as possible. “You’ve just gotta, pal.”

Steve giggles, dipping his head down to rub his nose affectionately against Bucky’s before ducking down close so that his mouth is pressed against Bucky’s ear. “The secret is . . .” he pauses and Bucky tickles his sides in warning. Steve thrashes away, laughing happily before sucking in a deep breath and commanding, “Stop!”

Bucky does so instantly. “You better tell, cuz, I can do this all day, pal,” he warns, brushing his fingers against Steve’s sides again in demonstration.

Steve giggles, wriggling around to try to avoid Bucky’s fingers before smashing his head rather painfully against Bucky’s temple. “You gosta promise not to tell,” Steve whispers, voice almost deafening this close to Bucky’s ear. 

“Cross my heart and hope to die,” Bucky answers solemnly.

“’Kay,” Steve says, appeased. “The secret is,” he sucks in a deep breath, pulling back so that he can stare directly into Bucky’s eyes. “I’m gonna get married, Buck,” he finishes in a rush.

Bucky allows himself a moment to be perplexed. It isn’t just that Steve’s secret doesn’t exactly fall within the lines of a secret. It’s that for the life of him, Bucky can’t remember who on earth Steve wanted to marry at age four. He struggles to even come up with any of the kids they’d been friends with back then. 

“Who you gonna marry, Stevie?” Bucky asks finally, keeping his voice a secret worthy whisper. “Becky?”

Steve cracks up, his peals of laughter sharp and bright and just this side of deafening. “No, Bucky,” Steve denies with a snort. “She’s justa baby. I don’t wanna marry a baby.”

“Then who are you getting hitched to?” Bucky presses. “Maria Hill? ‘Cuz if that’s true, I think I’ve got dibs on her, pal.”

“Bucky!” Steve whines, making a face at him. 

Bucky laughs. “Natasha?” he guesses.

Steve blinks like he hasn’t thought of that before. “She’s very pretty,” he allows.

“But you’re not marrying her?” Bucky asks. Steve shakes his head. “Then who?”

Steve’s grin grows impossibly wide before he bashes his head into Bucky’s again, pronouncing, “I’m gonna marry you, Bucky.”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks up at the ceiling fan in surprise, then he laughs. “Well, ain’t that nice of you, Steve.”

Steve giggles excitedly, little feet thrumming against Bucky’s abs. “Yeah, Buck. And we can have the biggest, prettiest wedding, and Becky can be our flower girl, only not with the flowers that make me sneeze, and then you and I can be married, and have a house together, and play together alls the time.”

“You got this all figured out, huh, pal?” Bucky asks, grinning at the image of little four year old Steve beckoning his mom down to his height so he can whisper this secret to her. 

“Uh-huh, and it’s going to be the bestest,” Steve assures him earnestly.

“Well,” Bucky starts, “I don’t know what you’ve been told about marriage, Steve, but you’ve got to ask the person before you just up and decide that a wedding is happening.”

Steve crawls up Bucky’s stomach, both hands clamping around Bucky’s cheeks and squishing them together until Bucky’s lips are puckered. “I gosta ask you first?”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky mutters between his smooshed lips. 

“And I gosta be real nice about it?”

“Well, if you want me to say yes,” Bucky says, words almost indecipherable. 

Steve pulls on his cheeks until Bucky’s lips are nothing but a flat line. “But, what if you wanna say no? I don’t want you to say no.”

“That’s the risk you gotta take,” Bucky offers diplomatically.

Steve thinks this over, his hands releasing Bucky’s cheeks so he can run his fingertips over Bucky’s slight stubble instead. “You can grow a beard just like your dad?” he muses distractedly.

Bucky shrugs, both hands cupped around Steve’s waist to hold him in place. “Yeah. Kind of a pain actually. Not nearly as fun as pretending to shave like we used to do.”

“But when we’re married, we can help each other shave,” Steve explains, as if he’s offering the world’s simplest solution. 

Bucky grins. “Still haven’t asked me yet, pal.”

In the pale morning light, Bucky watches Steve’s cheeks flush. “You gonna say no, Buck?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, hands coming around to hold both of Steve’s much smaller ones. “Come on now, Steve, be the brave guy I know you are.”

Steve scrunches his face up for a moment before wiggling his fingers between Bucky’s. “James Buchanan Barnes,” he starts with a deep inhale, pronouncing Bucky’s middle name perfectly, the way he’d learned to within their first month of friendship. “I wanna marry you and has a house with you and plays with you all the time. You wanna marry me too?”

“Always, pal, always,” Bucky vows, using his hold on Steve’s hands to pull him down for a soft kiss to his forehead. “Nobody else I’d rather marry, not ever.”

Steve lets out a relieved sigh, snuggling close to Bucky. “I’m gonna be the best husband, promise, Bucky.”

“Well, you will be unless you go around calling me James Buchanan,” Bucky corrects.

Steve giggles, kissing Bucky’s metal shoulder through the fabric of his t-shirt. “Bucky’s a better name.”

"Yeah, I think so too,” Bucky agrees. 

Bucky spends the ensuing quiet, during which Steve falls back asleep, committing every moment of this morning to memory. He’s going to rib Steve mercilessly about it when they get him back. Then he’s probably going to cry all over him because there’s nothing in this world that could have prepared Bucky for four year old Steve Rogers believing he was going to grow up and marry Bucky Barnes, who’d been a bit of brat at five years old. 

Bucky’s loved Steve for a long time, long before either of them went off to war, it just never occurred to him that he loved Steve in the way that meant he wanted to marry him too. It hadn’t been until after Hydra and the Winter Soldier that Bucky realized that he didn’t want to just smile at Steve’s stupid face, he wanted to kiss it too.

It’s a whole separate miracle that he and Steve are living in a time now where that is something they can do, and Bucky wakes up every morning grateful for that. Even this morning, when Steve is a pipsqueak and Bucky’s heart is still racing at the thought of never getting him back. Doesn’t matter though, not really. If Steve’s going to stay small, then Bucky will find a way to be small with him, and maybe when they grow up, they can get married, just like Steve imagines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you trekked through all of this, you have all my love and applause! =]]


End file.
